


aftertaste

by orphan_account



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, oh god what have I done, post-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>don't break, don't fade</i>
  <br/>
  <i>while we're not real, it's never too late</i>
</p><p>self indulgent marichat makeouts. have fun reading them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aftertaste

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by harmony, who doesn't have an ao3 account!!!

" _Shit_. Hold on."

She breaks away from his grasp and rushes to her table, leaving him dumbstruck. He heaves, blood rushing to his face as he processes what's just happened. His lips still tingle, almost swollen. Meanwhile she's hurriedly sweeping papers to the side, keeping them in their carefully organized piles. Finally there's an empty space and she turns back, finding herself almost pressed against him. 

Somewhere in his daze his feet had carried him forward, leaving him just behind her. 

Not that he minded. 

He'd never mind, so long as she kept stoking the fire in his chest. 

There's no space between them, so she does what anyone else would; loops her arms around his neck and crashes herself into him, just as recklessly as she had done before. His hands rest on the back of her thighs and she jumps as his nails dig in slightly, feeling him carry her weight. 

It's vague but she can feel him walking forward, hands still on the back of her thighs. They hit a cool surface and she finds that she's sitting, still too drunk on his everything to care. Her sweater is sliding off her shoulder and her grip on the back of his neck is tightening, heels pushing him closer towards her. His hands are planted firmly on the glass table and she feels so small, safe yet reckless. 

Their... _sessions_ , as she would call them, had been getting longer each night, bodies gradually fitting together seamlessly. It seems like they would go past the point of no return soon, no longer in the realm of small kisses. Instead they were running on more volatile fuel and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where they'd end up. 

Honestly, she shouldn't be doing this, but at this point, she doesn't care. She'd thrown all her worries into the wind, too wrapped up in his touch to care. She'd deal with those problems tomorrow, in the middle of Maths, praying that Alya doesn't see the blush on her face from her mental playback of that night. 

She sucks gently on his bottom lip and he groans, cutting the silence. He tips his head back, exposing his neck to her. She sees her chance and takes it. 

The hand on the back of his neck pushes him closer to her, enough for her to reach his throat. She starts where his neck met his jawline, leaving a trail of mint chapstick. He lets out another guttural groan and she can see his hands curl into fists out of the corner of her eye. 

For the brief moment when she contemplates unzipping his suit, her mind flickers elsewhere again, wondering how she was ever going to deal with this newfound affection, considering they could barely keep their hands off each other most nights. She wonders how he can control himself in class, barely fazed by the night before. All cool and calm instead of flustered and distracted. All the marks she leaves on him disappear the next morning and she knows that he knows enough about makeup to hide them, but still she feels odd. She feels possessive, even though she knows that his heart belongs to her. 

(Secretly she wants the world to see the marks she leaves on him.)

She kisses another cool trail up to his earlobe and lets her lips settle there, content on creating an angry looking mark on his skin. Suddenly her torso feels cool and she realizes that he's slowly dragging the hem of her sweater up, revealing the skin under the pale fabric. Goosebumps rise when he inches it further up, made worse by how warm his hands are. 

She swears quietly and he laughs, dipping his head down to reclaim her lips.


End file.
